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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25497295">Surprising Joy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/scratchedandinked/pseuds/scratchedandinked'>scratchedandinked</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Boyfriends holiday!, Brief blood ment at the very beginning be aware, Established Relationship, Everything is Over and Everyone is Okay, Fluff, He just wants to know the words to Martin's favorite song, Jon uses his powers for good (and to be a good boyfriend), M/M, Short &amp; Sweet, roadtrip vibes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:00:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25497295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/scratchedandinked/pseuds/scratchedandinked</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin was driving to the beach—a place Jon had never visited with any kind of willingness, actually—and the trip was promised to be winding and solitary. Jon had a thermos of tea in his hand, small dark sunglasses over his eyes (even though they were closed), part of his hair knotted up in preparation for the sea breeze, and his body angled to catch the sun as it came through the passenger window.</p><p>(Basically: You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you—he doesn’t need to. He did it ten minutes ago.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>109</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Surprising Joy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I just started listening and am only about 60% through everything, but I really wanted to imagine these two having a nice afternoon in the summer. No danger, no threats, just being sweet together. I've decided to just start writing fic as I go rather than waiting until I'm all caught up because why not!<br/>Enjoy! x</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last time Jon was in the car with Martin, Jon had to be told about it after the fact. Everything in his own memories was patchy, coming in and out in thick-mouthed moments of consciousness: They were moving fast, but time wasn’t. Jon’s hands were warm— slick, hot, and copper smelling—but everything else was so cold.</p><p>To be clear, Jon wasn’t sure whose blood it was. It wasn’t <em>entirely</em> is own—it couldn’t have been—but there was <em>so</em> much, and he was <em>so</em> exhausted Jon couldn’t find it in himself to Know who each drop of blood belonged to. He didn’t think he could handle knowing just who was dead: the last living cell of them smeared on his hands and clothes—and entire interior of the car.</p><p>But, this time was nothing like that. Jon was upright and vertical, completely aware and— dare he say—<em>cheerful</em>. Martin was driving to the beach—a place Jon had never visited with any kind of willingness, actually—and the trip was promised to be winding and solitary. Jon had a thermos of tea in his hand, small dark sunglasses over his eyes (even though they were closed), part of his hair tied up in preparation for the sea breeze, and his body angled to catch the sun as it came through the passenger window.</p><p>It was against all medical and dermatological advice, but the sun felt good on his scars. Yes, that meant they would remain longer and darker on his skin, but to feel warmth in his flesh again—to know it was alive and had <em>touch,</em> no matter how invisible—was both incredible and unremarkable; it was privately glorious, but so wonderfully mundane. Jon felt a slow drip of normalcy soothe over him as they passed under some trees, the broken slats of sunlight pattering over his face.</p><p>“Never knew you liked the summer.” Martin said, turning the radio down. Jon wanted to thank him—there was going to be an impeding stream of advertisements at the change of the hour.</p><p>“Never comes up.” Jon shrugged. “No natural light or breeze in the basements of our threatening archival labyrinth… But yes, I do like the summer. It’s nice to have more hours in the day.”</p><p>“And I’m sure you manage it well.” Martin laughed, looking over at Jon quickly before turning back to the road. Jon made a quiet noise and narrowed his eyes, encouraging Martin to continue. “Oh, I’m just positive you made sure to balance all those <em>additional</em> hours in the day.”</p><p>“Hm.” Jon lifted his eyebrows and took a sip from his thermos. “Definitely don’t do that.”</p><p>“To be clear,” <em>To be honest</em>, is what Martin meant, but Jon kept drinking. The lip of his thermos disguised his smile. “if it <em>wasn’t</em> for the fact you spent a period of your life in consistent mortal danger—which has somehow made you unbothered by casual death, actually—you <em>would</em> be dead. Starved to death, firstly.” Martin wasn’t angry, but spoke with a certain conviction of concern. He had thought of this before, choosing now to share all without being asked.</p><p>“Well, good thing I have you, yeah?” Jon meant it to be… somewhat casual. Not that he <em>had</em> to by any means. Martin knew what he meant to him—he was his boyfriend, partner, equal half, continual companion, favorite archival assistant, only man he’d trust with his life and only life with which Jon wanted to be trusted. “Forced vacation.” Jon added, covering his tracks suddenly.</p><p>“If I hear you mutter case numbers in your sleep again, it’s the couch, <em>Archivist</em>.”</p><p>“Hey, now that’s not fair—that was… that was <em>one time</em>.”</p><p>Jon had been at his worst then, to be fair; worst during a time when he’d let <em>no one</em> know what was going on—which was nothing nearly as horrible as his <em>public</em> bad times, but it was still draining. Back then, he’d slept maybe three minutes at a time—he could set his watch to it—sitting up rapidly and panting, like all the wind had been sucked out of him while simultaneously been pushed in and compressed. Every part of him would be thrumming, but active in a way that wasn’t his own. To try and sleep, to <em>actually</em> sleep—the ways genuine humans did, the way Martin did beside him—he would try and walk himself through a statement in his head. But the words always slipped through to his tongue, speaking them in bed like ancient tongues during an exorcist.</p><p>It <em>always</em> freaked Martin out, understandably so. But most of the time Martin chose to put on a faux frustrated front with Jon; he couldn’t exactly yell at him for it, right?</p><p>“I promise, I won’t do any work.” Jon reached over and patted the crook of Martin’s lifted driving arm. “I don’t think I have to… I think I’ll be okay.”</p><p>“Oh, good.” Martin hummed, nodding pleasantly. "Good."</p><p>The road curved around in a tight turn and Jon readjusted in his seat, letting the conversation dissolve in the peaceful resolve. The radio crammed the last of its fast, soundbite adverts into their time slot. The music had faded back in just under their conversation and Jon rested his head against the window, sighing softly enough to be covered by the slowly rising volume.</p><p>“Oh, I like this song.” Martin said, putting his hand back on the wheel.</p><p>Jon paused for a moment, considering the many options of his sudden idea. He adjusted his glasses and folded his hands over his thermos. Jon let his eyes close again for a moment and found his way over to Martin—to his thoughts and anticipation of the lyrics. He could practically read them in front of his eyes, plucking them down and placing them on his own tongue.</p><p>It was definitely the <em>most</em> roundabout way of doing it but—Jon quietly muttered along with Martin as he sang.</p><p>For all intents and purposes, the lyrics were nonsensical lovey pop trickle. Jon had heard the song before but never would've chosen it of his own volition. The voices were alright by all judgement, but very high in tone—teenagers, most definitely. It didn’t seem like it was that old of a song either—definitely not a 90s boyband track or something of the sort from Jon’s vague childhood pop culture recollection—but Martin didn’t seem to mind the maxed-out age demographic. He bobbed his head and Jon could feel the sun just a <em>little</em> bit warmer on his face.</p><p>Time was slow again, but definitely not slow enough. Jon wanted to hang in the moment forever—<em>this</em> was a forever, an eternity, he could live with. A moment’s pause and quiet shared affinity for each other’s company, in however giddy and cheesy way that was. Things had never been this easy— well, things being <em>presented</em> to him had never been so easy. Easy to accept? To deal with and be normal again? Maybe not. But nothing had ever been as simple as <em>love</em>.</p><p>Which <em>sounded</em> like a completely contradictory concept, but it felt right to Jon. He didn’t have to think on it— God, did he need to? Ever? Even before all of this, would Jon have had to sit and <em>think</em> on love? He’d been in love before and—</p><p>Well. No. Not like <em>this</em>. And if it all hadn’t been like <em>this</em>—the way it was with Martin, through and through: divinely good and abhorrently bad, between and around them— then it wasn’t worth the comparison. It couldn’t be done.</p><p>Also, to be fair to any and all college relationships, Jon definitely didn’t have to protect any of them as if they were physical extensions of himself, everything hurtling toward him as he understood Death was casting a shadow over Martin— and that just immediately put them on a completely different scale. They were nice dates but, well. <em>Come on</em>.</p><p>“I never thought you’d know that song—know any music from this decade, to be honest.” Martin was both amused and bemused. Jon had never heard himself say the word <em>baby</em> so many times, he could only imagine how foreign it sounded to Martin—especially in his non-speaking voice.</p><p>“I don’t.” Jon shrugged. “Outsourced the lyrics, predicted the melody—you understand.” Jon made sure to speak as dry and nonchalant as humanly possible—which was actually far less than other non-human forms, unfortunately.</p><p>Martin sighed and reached over, slapping Jon on the leg. “Beholding boybands now, are we?”</p><p>“No, still just beholding you… be-<em>loving</em> pop groups from the past ten years.” Jon took a long sip from his thermos. <em>Just</em> for the effect. “You sure do seem to know a lot... Hm… Yes, yes, I see.”</p><p>“Jon-- <em>Hey</em>!” Martin squawked. Jon was thinking only of the somehow <em>dry</em> taste of his gulp of green tea. He wasn’t routing through Martin’s wired web of thoughts concerning any number of band members. But… <em>again</em>, for the effect--</p><p>“What? I’m just saying that even <em>I</em> can see that—<em>Oh</em>. Martin! You can’t think <em>that</em>!” Jon gasped.</p><p>He was trying to decide what he’d make them to eat when they finally got to the beach. Martin went a deep crimson and Jon was sure it wasn’t from anything embarrassing on Martin’s mind; the prospect of personal invasion was always crippling, and Jon had (hypothetically) stepped over the line with such vigor. All intentional means of kindness and affection were lost with the clumsy accidental repercussions of beholding <em>song lyrics</em>... Some parts of being human Jon had always been bad at.</p><p>In the silence, Jon sighed slowly. Apologetically. He placed his hand back on Martin’s arm, waiting for a flinch that never came. “I’m only joking, Martin. I-I didn’t Know anything. I was just being an asshole.”</p><p>Martin pursed his lips, humming a quiet acceptance of the apology. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Unless there <em>is</em> something I should know.”</p><p>“Jon, jokes over.”</p><p>“Okay—you’re right. Sorry, sorry.” Jon let his hand remain resting on Martin’s arm, slowly working the thin linen of Martin’s shirt through his fingers. “Kiss?” Jon asked; Martin <em>was</em> driving after all.</p><p>Martin tilted his head toward Jon, still facing the road without seeming reluctant for the affection. Jon pushed up from his slouch against the door and pulled himself to press his lips to Martin’s cheek. The skin was still flushed and flaring hot. Jon pretended not to notice, and let his hot, tea-wet lips match the blush.</p><p>“How much longer?” Jon asked quietly, resting his temple against Martin’s and watching the road with him. “Want to stop and switch?”</p><p>“No, no that’s alright. I know the way and don’t want to make you worry about directions—” The excuse was poor, considering Jon already Knew the way. “Besides, if I drive I get full control over the music.”</p><p>“Ah, I see how it is.”</p><p>“Increasingly, yeah.”</p><p>“You know what I mean.” Jon nudged Martin’s head with his own. He was out of the sun, but he still felt settled and captured in its warmth—enraptured. “I’m excited to be away from a while, Martin. I think this could be good.”</p><p>“You <em>think</em>?”</p><p>“I want to be surprised.” Jon said lightly. What was the point of knowing everything about love? Martin wasn’t an Informant for reactive behavior, something to stay one step ahead of. Martin was an active part of being loved and being <em>in love</em>. “Who knows what we’ll get ourselves into.”</p><p>“That’s very sweet, Jon.” Martin was near-wistful. “but when <em>you</em> say it, it sounds a bit foreboding.”</p><p>“Damn—uh, I think we could really get ourselves into some—no, that’s worse. I don’t want to know what you’re—hm that implies I <em>normally</em> Know... Dammit.” Jon sorted through his words unsuccessfully. “I want the joy to surprise me.” He said finally.</p><p>Despite driving on a straightaway, Martin eased the car’s speed; they were the only car on the road and didn't need to mind any traffic. In what Jon thought was a moment of sightseeing, Martin turned and kissed him, quickly and squarely. Jon was largely unprepared and had his eyes open and distracted during the entire moment—blinking when Martin had already turned away and sped back up.</p><p>“What was that for?”</p><p>“You come up with <em>great</em> poem titles.”</p><p><em>Oh</em>, Jon wanted to sigh but held it back— afraid of faulty interpretation.</p><p>It wasn’t a moment of irritation, or tolerating Martin’s pastime—<em>hobby, Jon. It’s a craft! My craft!</em>— it was a blissful moment of <em>Oh, I’m alive</em>. Existing in the world, the car, Martin’s life, and soon his poetry. Jon had a heart worth unpeeling and laying carefully into the network of verse line veins. Jon had a heart—had <em>heart</em>.</p><p>He was alive. And that was really all being in love felt like. Plain and quite simple.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(I'm sure you've all guessed the band, if not song, playing and I have no excuses... I'm sorry.)</p><p>BUT anyway! Thank you for reading my first tma fic, see you back for more once more I hear that Apocalypse really kick into high gear.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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